Explanation
by NeuroticMusing
Summary: Extended ending to Dice. Vince/Orwell


**Hey everyone! I've been planning this story for a long time, but after months of being stuck with the original plot, I did this revision in a week. **

**Anyway, no other announcements, enjoy the story.**

**I do not own The Cape.**

_**Explanation**_

The blogger winced back in pain as she stared back into the mirror. Gently, she guided a finger against the abrasion on her right temple. Orwell jumped back a bit, finally aware at just how deep it was. Her mind flashed back to the moment she was hit with the butt of Tracey Jerrod's gun. Years ago, she and Tracey were _best _friends. Anytime Peter Fleming would visit Henry Jerrod for a business meeting, Jamie would accompany him. She laughed in spite of the circumstances; yeah, some _best friend. _

Orwell reached for the jar of skin salve that sat on her bathroom counter sink. Screwing the lid off, she applied a dime size of it onto her index finger. Leaning against the counter to get a good look at the scratch, she massaged the salve into it. She remembered the last time Tracey and herself had a play date. Jamie was nine years old at the time, and she could tell that things weren't going to go so well. Unfortunately, extremely intuitive Jamie was right. The last time she saw her best friend was the night Chess murdered Henry Jerrod. Orwell had often wondered what Tracey thought of her now, though it was clear that she held the same level of disdain for her that was reserved for her father.

The blogger shook herself back to reality as she heard her ring tone for Vince go off in the distance. She had picked "Kryptonite" by Three Doors Down just for laughs. The brunette loved the song, but it was hysterical to see "The Cape" pop up on her phone as she heard a song about a supposed superhero.

"_I really don't mind what happens now and then, as long as you'll be my friend at the end," _rang through her ears. Her heart sank at that lyric, but she still rushed over to retrieve her phone. "Hello?" Orwell answered lightly.

"_You know you love me, right Orwell?" _Vince asked in a joking tone.

The blogger sighed and grinned back. "What did you do this time?"

"_Why do you always think _I _did something?" _the Cape asked.

"Because you're always causing trouble," Orwell chuckled.

"_Oh thanks," _Vince paused, grinning a bit. Up until the point that he began to talk to his partner, he had still been infuriated over his luck for the course of the last forty-eight hours. Something about her made him calm down considerably.

"So let me guess," the brunette blogger paused to sit down on her closed toilet lid. "You're bored and driving yourself insane being alone in that cave of yours?"

"_That sounds about right," _the vigilante said with a nod as she leaned back against the couch he had in his _cave, _as his partner just recently called it.

Orwell sighed again. "Alright mopey, I'll be right there."

"_Knew I could count on you," _Vince sent a smile down at the phone.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in a minute," the blogger let out a light laugh as she hung up the phone.

The brunette looked down at her phone with a smile. Leave it to Vince to be the one that cheers her up. As a contended smile etched onto her features, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and rose from where she sat. Running her hands against her jeans, Orwell traveled through her hideout. She grabbed her purse, various tech items, and left her home for what felt like the billionth time today.

-0-

Vince was bored to death. There wasn't much he could do around his home away from home when he wasn't stopping or preventing another one of ARK's ploys. At least when Orwell was around, things weren't so dull. The vigilante grinned a bit; trying to figure out that girl was time consuming enough. Getting up from his seat, the Cape walked over to his version of a kitchen. He figured the least he could do for his partner was to make some coffee or something. Orwell's behavior had been a little more than off that day; she sounded more like herself on the phone, but Vince couldn't take any chances. The last thing _he _needed was to irritate his already angry partner.

By the time the vigilante heard his front door open, he had a pot of coffee going, and was more or less ready to deal with anything his partner threw his way.

From his seat at the computer chair, Vince turned his head to watch the blogger enter his hideout. "Hey," he answered as he gave her a grin.

"Hey Vince," Orwell said lightly, walking over to take her seat beside the vigilante.

He looked her over once without hesitation. "I made some coffee."

The blogger met with his blue eyes and smiled. "Well now you're speaking my language."

Vince let out a chuckle. He watched as his partner tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, revealing a not so familiar scar on her temple. The vigilante extended a hand to touch it ever so gently. "How'd you get this?"

Orwell twitched under his touch. She then slightly turned away from the vigilante. "It's nothing," she said dismissively.

Vince sent a disbelieving albeit concerned look her way. "That's not what I asked you. _How _did you get it?"

Orwell drew out a long sigh as she got up from her chair. With all intents and purposes to get away from her partner, she stalked to the back of the hideout.

The Cape watched the blogger from his seat. He raised his legs onto the desk and tilted his head back further to get a better look. She was nervously getting the two of them coffee. "Orwell, stop avoiding the question."

"I'm not avoiding anything," the brunette began in a hostile tone as she poured coffee into two different mugs.

"You're avoiding the question I've been asking all along," Vince answered, prompting an eye roll from his partner.

"Don't worry about it," Orwell met with his eyes, giving him a tiny smile.

The vigilante wasn't taking this brush off well. He got up quickly and rushed over to his partner. Orwell watched him warily as he tentatively took her face in his hands. "C'mon, talk to me."

The blogger sighed. "Remember when you and I went to Tracey Jerrod's apartment?"

Vince gave her an understanding nod and ran a thumb across her scrape. "That's what she did to you," he said, breaking their contact as he spoke.

"Yes," Orwell replied dryly, not bothering to meet with her partner's gaze.

"Orwell, is there something you're not telling me?" the vigilante began, his eyes were taking the nervous blogger in. "Something about Tracey?" he added more lightly than before.

The brunette peered over at her partner from her thick curtain of hair. "You _really _want to know?"

"No, I'm just asking to waste my breath," Vince said sarcastically.

Orwell scoffed. "Fine. I'll tell you."

The Cape didn't reply, he just stared ahead at the brunette.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" the blogger asked, a little annoyed.

"No reason. I'm just waiting," Vince spoke with a tiny smile.

Another sigh came from Orwell. She looked from her partner to the counter where their coffee mugs sat. "Go sit down, I'll be right there."

"With a story?" the Cape offered her a grin.

"Yes, Vince. With a story," the brunette answered with a nod.

"Okay," he paused, taking her into his arms for a hug.

Orwell had gotten a few hugs from her partner before, but it never ceased to surprise her; just like it never ceased to kick a jump start to her heart. She hugged him back ever so gently, smiling to herself as they broke apart.

Vince passed on a smirk to the blogger before he walked away from her. Orwell could feel her lungs compress against her chest rapidly as she watched the vigilante sit down on his worn-out couch. She let out a sigh before she turned back to continue dressing her coffee. How in the _world _was she supposed to tell Vince the truth? _Oh by the way, Peter Fleming is my father, and my best childhood friend was Tracey Jerrod. Go figure, huh?_ This kind of stuff _always _seemed to happen to her. Yet another reason why she would rather be alone. Taking another look over at her partner, the brunette made the mistake of meeting with his eyes. Without much hesitation, Orwell picked up the full mugs of coffee and took them over to the vigilante.

"About time, Orwell," Vince said with a teasing grin, taking his mug from the blogger.

"I didn't take _that _long," the brunette sent a pointed look his way as she gently sat down next to the vigilante.

"Are you kidding? I grew stubble waiting for you," Vince replied, motioning to his face.

"Not to make fun of you Vince, but," she picked up a pillow and smacked the vigilante with it. "You had that stubble five minutes ago."

The Cape flashed her a mock shock look. "I offer you to come over here and you hit me with a pillow?"

"Well you deserve it," Orwell smirked teasingly.

"Yeah?" Vince spoke as he bumped his shoulder into hers.

"Mhm," the blogger drew out a breath as she relaxed into the couch. Taking a hand to his shoulder, she patted it lightly. "Sorry to break it to you."

The vigilante grinned back at her before she brought the coffee mug to his lips. After taking a quick sip, he looked over at his partner. "So, what's the story?"

Orwell felt her heart dip. There was _no _getting out of this. "You knew Tracey Jerrod from

your investigation?" she started out as a rhetorical question.

"Yeah, but what does this have to do with you?" Vince asked, gently tracing the mar across her temple.

The blogger sighed. "When I was five years old, my best friend was Tracey Jerrod."

Her partner grew silent for a moment. "Something's telling me that you two weren't chummy," the Cape said just above a whisper. He was silently piecing the "Orwell puzzle" together.

The brunette traced the rim of her coffee mug, smiling sadly. "Our fathers worked together, every time mine went to the Jerrod home, he would always take me with him."

"What happened, then?" Vince asked with a concerned glance.

Orwell narrowed her eyes over at her partner. "We stopped talking after her father was murdered."

"Well that doesn't explain why the both of you were so hostile to each other," the vigilante pressed on. He took a hold of the brunette's hand and gave it a light squeeze. "C'mon, tell me more."

The blogger looked down at the coffee mug and gave a light shrug. "I don't know why."

"Yes you do," Vince bored his eyes into hers as he waited for his partner's reply.

Orwell raised her legs and shifted her body to sit on them. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. "I don't know if I can tell you."

"Well it doesn't hurt to try," the vigilante said with a grin.

"It may not hurt _you_," the blogger mumbled.

The Cape let go of the brunette's hand and offered her a smile. "Is there something you don't want me to know?" he paused, taking in his partner's fearful expression. "Is that why you've been so secretive?" he added as a light bulb went off in his head.

Orwell felt a lump build up in her throat. Barely audible, she replied, "I've got nothing you would want to hear, I can reassure you that."

"How do you know?" Vince asked, slightly in defense for his friend.

The blogger felt a shiver travel down her spine. She was afraid of telling the vigilante just _who _her father was. Though, she had a feeling that she would lose Vince if she kept gradually pushing too far away. The brunette watched as the hopeful gleam in his eyes faded away. "Alright, I understand. You don't have to tell me," he began, scooting to the edge of the couch cushion.

"Vince," Orwell practically cried out.

The vigilante sighed. "Yeah?"

The brunette blogger blinked back a few tears, a whimper escaping from her lips. "Where are you going?"

Vince ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it up some. "Uh, I was just going to give you some space."

Orwell began to shake her head a bit. "No, don't go," she pleaded her eyes with his. "Please don't walk away from me!"

The vigilante shot her a confused look. "I don't know what you want, Orwell," he began, sinking back into the couch. "You won't talk to me."

The blogger sighed and placed her coffee mug on the floor. Sitting back up, she massaged her left temple with a finger. "I just don't know how to say it."

"Just find a simple way. I promise I'll listen," Vince offered her a tiny grin as he placed a hand on the side of her head. Strumming his thumb against her brown locks, the vigilante just watched his partner.

She nodded and tried to find comfort in his touch. The brunette's breath hitched in her chest as she spoke hoarsely. "Vince," she paused to take another breath and clench her eyes shut. "My name's Jamie Fleming. I'm the daughter of Peter and Veronica Fleming."

The Cape dropped his hand and rubbed it against his jeans. No words could form at that moment.

"I know I shouldn't be sticking up for my father," Orwell began, cradling her head against her hand.

"Were you close with him?" Vince asked.

The blogger nodded. "I was his little Princess since the day I was born."

"No matter _who _your parents are, you don't want to see them die. Since you two were close," he paused. "Well, that's all the more reason for you to behave like you did."

His partner shot him a confused look. "Did you just stick up for Peter Fleming?"

"No, I stuck up for _you,_" Vince said in a tone somewhere between indifference and utter concern.

"Vince, I know was wrong to not be honest with you from the start," Orwell said as she crossed her arms.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself, alright?" the Cape said sincerely. Everything else disappeared from his mind other than the girl that sat next to him. Taking her face in his hands, he continued. "I don't blame you for not telling me."

The blogger's face fell. "And you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad?" Vince questioned, taking his hand from her cheek, sliding it to support the back of her head.

Orwell shrugged. "You've been so trusting, and I haven't given you a reason to be."

"Well, I doubt you have been given a reason to trust anyone," the vigilante gave his partner a light smile.

The blogger took in a deep breath and leaned against his hand. Looking down at her lap with a sad smile, she began speaking in a whisper. "Tracey had told me Fleming had killed her father, and I didn't believe her."

Vince turned his body towards the brunette and lowered his arm to drape across her shoulders. "Why didn't you believe her?"

Orwell looked over at the Cape and smiled at the arm that was around her. "I was nine. I had no reason to believe that my father was a belligerent killer."

"No nine year old should have to find that out," Vince started roughly, shaking his head in the process.

"I didn't find out until I was eleven. Up to then," she paused to lay her hands in her lap. "I was mad at Tracey for 'lying'," she finished with an air quote.

"And today you were mad because she tried to kill your father?" the vigilante asked. To him, it felt so weird to mean _Fleming _in the same context as _father._

Orwell raised her pitch a notch. "I didn't mean to let my anger bubble out like that. I _shouldn't _care that she wanted him dead. He has every right to lay in his deathbed." Ducking her head, she quieted down. "I don't know, I just lost control for a lot of different reasons."

Vince took the hand that was on her shoulder and idly traced the abrasion on his partner's right temple. "Don't worry, alright?" the vigilante asked gently.

"I'll try not to," the blogger said with a sigh.

The Cape grinned a bit and placed a kiss on her cut.

"Oww!" Orwell cried out as his lips touched the wound.

"What? What did I do?" Vince pulled back from the blogger, staring at her face in concern.

"You kissed my scrape genius!" the blogger yelled out, pushing him slightly.

"Well I'm sorry!" the Cape defended himself, holding his hand up in the process.

Orwell sighed and let out a whine as she touched her cut lightly.

Vince nodded knowingly and took his partner into his arms. Smiling down at her, he whispered. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," the blogger paused, pouting slightly. "Just don't kiss my forehead again."

"Not a problem," the Cape spoke, ducking his head down to kiss the brunette square on the mouth. He had questioned time after time exactly _what _she meant to him, but it wasn't until that very moment that he realized that he was, in fact, falling in love with his partner.

Orwell leaned into him and continued the kiss, only much more passionately this time around. The blogger had gotten so caught up in the moment, she had no clue that tears were falling from her eyes.

The vigilante held the brunette in his arms, resting his arms against her waist. Vince wasn't aware of Orwell's sudden emotion change until he tasted the salty tears against their already connected lips. Pulling back ever so reluctantly, the vigilante saw the lingering tears in the blogger's eyes. "What are those tears for?" he asked lightly.

"It's nothing," Orwell said dismissively.

"It's obviously something," Vince pressed on.

The brunette turned away a bit. "I'm just not used to all of that affection," she began lightly.

"Well I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," the vigilante spoke, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"No! You didn't make me uncomfortable at all, Vince," Orwell said with a tiny voice.

"Are you sure?" Vince asked skeptically.

"I promise," the blogger said, proving her point in the next instance by kissing her partner again.

As their lips touched again, everything else seemed so far away. For once in about a decade, Orwell felt safe. For once in the past few months, Vince felt like something was finally making sense.

**How did I do, everyone? **


End file.
